


genie for you, boy

by mochiiks



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Humor, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-21 17:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12462216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochiiks/pseuds/mochiiks
Summary: During Jongdae’s junior year of college, he 1) fails an exam for the first time in his life; 2) walks in on his roommates defiling the living room couch, aka his (no longer) favorite study spot; and 3) accidentally summons a two thousand year old wish-granting demon in the Classics section of the library—unfortunately, in that order.





	genie for you, boy

**Author's Note:**

> \- a huge apology to the mods of this wonderful fest for my extreme tardiness; i tried my best to post this on time, but as i was editing, i found huge chunks of stuff wrong with this fic, and had to delay posting to fix it. thank you very very very much for still putting up with me through all that!!  
> \- and, a huge apology to op if this isn't exactly what you were looking for? as someone currently studying latin, i had a whole lotta fun with your prompt, and i really hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!!

 

 

 

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

 

 

 

One of the many things Jongdae envies about Chanyeol—among his height, his vintage vinyl collection, and his ability to eat an entire sleeve of Double Stuf Oreos in less than a minute—is his music major.

The problem isn’t that Jongdae dislikes his own major, because he doesn’t. He thinks that philology is a wonderful, albeit underrated field, and he can’t imagine studying anything else. No, the problem is that, despite receiving top marks in his language classes all throughout high school, Jongdae is currently failing Latin.

“I don’t understand why you’re blaming me for this,” Chanyeol says with a snort. “You’re the one who decided to take three different languages at the same time.”

Jongdae puffs his cheeks out in irritation as he watches his roommates play Mario Kart on the living room floor, long legs crossed and glazed over eyes glued to the screen. Fucking music majors—of course they had the time to play video games on a Tuesday night.

“Yeah, but if I don’t take those languages, I can’t graduate,” Jongdae says flatly. “Since philology is, y’know, the study of written _languages_.”

“False,” Sehun interjects, uncrossing his leg. “You only need to take two different languages to graduate.”

He pauses to swing one of his legs onto Chanyeol’s lap. Chanyeol squawks in response, taking one hand off his controller to push Sehun’s leg off. On screen, Princess Peach veers off the track and plummets into Rainbow Road’s unforgiving abyss. “Dude, not cool!” Chanyeol cries out, looking on the verge of tears.

Sehun snickers, but still pauses the game to rub at Chanyeol’s shoulders comfortingly. “You’d be fine with just taking Latin and German,” Sehun continues, speaking offhandedly to Jongdae as he pulls away from Chanyeol to unpause the game. “But you take Chinese because you have a thing for that Minseok guy.”

Chanyeol snorts. “More like a thing for that Minseok guy’s _dick_ ,” he says, guffawing like he’s just dropped the biggest comedic bomb of the decade.

Jongdae frowns and kicks Chanyeol in the back, hard-toed Converse and all. Chanyeol crumples forward with a yelp of pain as Peach falls off the track again. “Slander,” Jongdae says vehemently. “I do not have a thing for _any_ part of Minseok.”

“Said the sad, lonely twink as he held back tears of denial, clearly having a thing for _every_ part of Minseok,” Chanyeol stage whispers dramatically to Sehun.

As Chanyeol and Sehun burst into childish giggles, Jongdae kicks their backs again. They cry out at the same time, and both Peach and Daisy tumble off the track. “That is beside the point, because I’m doing fine in Chinese,” Jongdae says huffily. “The only class I’m struggling with is Latin, and it’s one of the language credits I actually _need_.”

Chanyeol furrows his brow at the screen. “Dude, what happened?” he asks, unphased as Daisy passes the finish line and Peach remains in sixth place. “I thought you aced Latin your freshman and sophomore years.”

Jongdae sighs. “I did,” he says with a pout. He sinks further into the couch. “But then Latin got harder.”

“Like your dick whenever you see Minseok in Chinese class?” Sehun says with a snicker. Chanyeol chortles and high-fives Sehun with an obnoxious “ _nice_ ” as Peach crosses the finish line. Jongdae resists the urge to kick them again—instead, he pulls one of his shoe off and flings it at Sehun’s back.

“Seriously, the first two years of Latin were childsplay compared to this class,” Jongdae laments, ignoring Sehun’s pained whines. “I mean, I got a B on my last exam, and all because I couldn’t remember third declension i-stem—”

“ _Boo_ , you nerd,” Chanyeol interrupts, cupping his hands around his mouth so that his already deafening voice is even louder. “Stop talking about school stuff, you’re killing our figurative Mario Kart boners.”

“Yeah, we were like, rock hard before you came home,” Sehun says.

“Both figuratively and literally,” Chanyeol adds with a smirk.

Jongdae scrunches his face in disgust as Chanyeol and Sehun exchange hitched eyebrows. “Ugh, stop it,” he complains, pulling his other shoe off and throwing it at Chanyeol’s arm. “If you guys are gonna be gross, please do it when I’m not here.”

“Been there, done that,” Sehun drawls, smirking as he pulls Chanyeol closer by his shirt collar for a kiss.

Not for the first time in his life, Jongdae wishes he had more than two shoes to throw.

 

 

 

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

 

 

 

For the most part, Jongdae blames his current frustration on his parents. Really, if they hadn’t pushed him so hard in middle school, Jongdae wouldn’t be so upset with his current grade of 84% in Latin. (“Ugh,” Sehun had said disdainfully the day they first met, right after Jongdae had proudly listed off his high school credentials as student council president, captain of the lacrosse team, and class valedictorian. “So, you’re the reason why Asian stereotypes exist, huh?”) Jongdae knows that his parents _only want the best for him_ , and that they’ve got the whole “first-generation immigrants from an East Asian country with a notoriously high rate of school-related suicides among the student populace” thing going on for them, but _still_ —would it have really hurt for Jongdae’s GPA to dip below an unweighted 4.00?

“I know the feeling,” Minseok says with an empathetic sigh. “My first B is still the most vivid memory I’ll ever have.”

Jongdae exhales loudly, propping his chin up on a hand in mock wistfulness. “87%, ninth grade Biology test. My parents made me study flashcards for two hours straight to make up for it," he tilts his head to face Minseok, “you?

Minseok hums in consideration as he mimics Jongdae’s pose, leaning forward with his elbows to the table and his palms over his cheeks. “83%, seventh grade Art project. I wasn’t allowed to have seconds at dinner until I could name every single High Renaissance artist along with their most significant work," he shudders a little, “to this day, I can’t watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles without reciting ‘Raphael, _The School of Athens_ , 1509-1511’ in my head.”

Jongdae whistles lowly. “Woah. Okay, yeah, you win.”

As Minseok sits up, he chuckles, a low rumble of a laugh that makes Jongdae’s palms all sweaty. Jongdae sits up too, wiping his hands on his pants in what he hopes is a discreet manner. “I don’t think either of us are winners in this situation, but thanks.” Minseok smiles a little, the corners of his lips quirking up in the most _adorable_ grin, and Jongdae fervently rubs his increasingly sweaty palms against the fabric of his jeans. “I really don’t think you need to worry about your Latin grade, though,” Minseok adds. “I mean, it’s just one B. It’s not the end of the world.”

Jongdae sighs. “Yeah, I guess,” he concedes. “But, that’s how it starts, isn’t it? First, you get a B on an exam, then you start getting C’s, then you start failing the class—and boom, all of a sudden you’re living on the streets, equipped with nothing but a few college credits for a dead language and an adopted pet squirrel you’ve named Reginald.”

Minseok furrows his brow. “Alright, you’re taking this _way_ too seriously.” He runs a hand through bleached blonde locks, pushing his bangs out of his forehead—and _fuck_ , Jongdae’s brain feels like it might leak out of his ears and onto the floor. “You do know that you’re not in high school anymore, right?” Minseok continues. “This is college. Your parents aren’t here to watch over your every move and pressure you about grades. As long as you try your best, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Despite the overall banality of Minseok’s advice—as if Chanyeol hasn’t told him a million times before to just _try his best_ —Jongdae feels his cheeks heat up. Apparently, the Niagara Falls sized cataract gushing out of his sweat glands wasn’t already enough.

“Yeah,” Jongdae says, “I know. It’s just—it’s a lot of pressure, y’know? I really need this Latin credit for my degree, and I’ve never struggled this much with a class before.” Jongdae, for the life of him, can’t understand why he’s practically baring his soul to Minseok a mere five minutes before their Chinese lecture starts—but he can’t seem to stop himself, the words tumbling past his lips like a metaphorical convertible driving off a metaphorical cliff to its metaphorical death. (Still, at least he’s stopped sweating.)

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Minseok, says, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t really blame you for feeling that way. I mean, I’d rather sit through a five hour-long lecture from Professor Li than take three different languages at once.”

Jongdae snorts, glancing over at the wrinkled, gray-haired man setting up near the front of the lecture hall. As much as the two of them enjoy studying Chinese, neither Jongdae nor Minseok can stand Professor Li’s lectures for much longer than the allocated class time. They always get a little antsy near the last fifteen minutes, choosing to play shitty iOS games with each other underneath their desks instead of taking notes. Jongdae is pretty sure he’d claw his eyes out in boredom if he was forced to sit through a five-hour version of that—yet, he can’t help but agree with Minseok that it’d be preferred to his current situation. “I guess I’m just a masochist at heart,” Jongdae jokes half-heartedly.

Minseok chuckles again, and oh _no_ , Niagara Falls is back. “That’s one way to put it,” Minseok says as Jongdae goes back to vigorously (and, he hopes, _discreetly_ ) wiping his palms against his jeans. “Though, you’re doing a pretty admirable job. If I was taking three languages, I would have _much_ worse than a B in all of them.”

Jongdae flushes deeper. “T-Thanks,” he says, unable to keep the slight stammer out of his voice. Nice. _Real_ subtle. “But I’m really not that impressive,” Jongdae rambles on. “I mean, I just study a lot. I’m sure if I had more of a social life, my grades would be horrible. Um, not that I don’t have a social life. Because I do. Have a social life, I mean. I swear I have friends.” He cringes at his own words, because _wow_. Good job, Jongdae. Two years, he’s been sitting beside Minseok in Chinese class, and he still can’t go through one conversation with him that doesn’t involve Jongdae making a complete idiot out of himself.

Minseok laughs, although there’s no real malice in the gesture. (Jongdae almost wishes that there was, because goddamnit, does Minseok have to be so polite and perfect _all_ the time?) “Don’t worry, I believe you,” Minseok says teasingly.

Jongdae blushes yet again. Before he can try to redeem his almost painful awkwardness with some sort of half-baked wit, Professor Li calls for the hall’s attention in his flat, droning voice. “Hey,” Jongdae whispers to Minseok as he takes his laptop out of his bag. “Isn’t it kind of ironic how Chinese is a tonal language, but the last time anyone heard any kind of inflection in Professor Li’s voice was when he came out of the womb?”

Minseok lets out a slightly surprised laugh, his eyes creasing into little crescents as he tries to stifle his giggles against his palm. Jongdae can practically hear his own heart thumping against his chest now, even against Professor Li’s loud, monotone voice. When Minseok finally stops laughing, he hits Jongdae on the arm lightly. “Stop it,” he chides in a whisper. “People are staring at me like I’m a stroke victim.” Still, Minseok has a small smile on his face throughout the entire lecture, one that only exacerbates Jongdae’s sweaty palms and flushed cheeks.

Maybe Chanyeol and Sehun weren’t _too_ off about Jongdae having a thing for Minseok.

 

 

 

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There are three different events that are essential to understanding why, at two in the morning, Jongdae is currently sitting in the library instead of in bed.

One: Jongdae, knowing full well that he has a Super Important™ Latin exam the next day, stays up to binge watch an entire season of RuPaul’s Drag Race with his roommates.

Two: Jongdae, knowing full well that reviewing Latin idioms would’ve been a supremely more productive activity than arguing loudly with Sehun about whether or not Bianca was going to win, fails his Super Important™ Latin exam.

Three: Jongdae, knowing full well that Chanyeol is supposed to be at his Advanced Music Theory class right now, comes home to his roommates dry humping on the couch.

 

 

 

> _From: chanyeol_
> 
> jongdae!!!! how many times do we have to tell you that we’re really sorry!!!!!!

 

The volunteer student librarian sitting near the front of the nearly empty room, a senior named Junmyeon, looks up from his book and frowns as Jongdae’s phone _dings_ with a message notification. Jongdae offers him an apologetic smile and turns his ringer off. Taking his attention off the notes splayed out in front of him, Jongdae takes a good minute to type out a scathing reply to Chanyeol’s text. Then, after a few second thoughts, he deletes the entire message and rewrites it.

 

 

 

> _To: chanyeol_
> 
> eat my ass
> 
>  
> 
> _From: chanyeol_
> 
> well i don’t think sehun would be open to that
> 
> WOW DID U REALLY JUST LEAVE OUR CLAN ON CLASH ROYALE
> 
> JONGDAE
> 
> IT WAS AN ACCIDENT
> 
> WE DIDN’T THINK YOU WOULD COME HOME SO EARLY
> 
>  
> 
> _To: chanyeol_
> 
> you know, i do *everything* on that couch
> 
>  
> 
> _From: chanyeol_
> 
> GODSFJK WE SAID WE’RE SORRY
> 
> please come back home, it’s so late :(
> 
> plus, sehun misses you

 

Before Jongdae can react to the ridiculousness of that statement—Sehun? Having genuinely sincere feelings towards another living being other than himself or his dog?—a new message from a separate conversation pops up on Jongdae’s screen.

 

 

 

> _From: sehun_
> 
> lol. no i don’t.

 

Jongdae rolls his eyes and sets his phone facedown on the table. It hits the surface with a noisy _thwack_ , and Junmyeon gives him another look. “Sorry,” Jongdae mouths silently—even though the only people in the room are Junmyeon, Jongdae, and some guy sitting in the back of the room who is most _definitely_ stoned out of his mind (and has been reading his book upside down for almost twenty minutes now).

Junmyeon nods slightly in acknowledgement of Jongdae’s apology, then goes back to his book. Jongdae tries to return to his notes as well, but the handwritten scribbles swim around his line of sight incomprehensibly. He blinks a few times to focus his vision. When he still isn’t able to make out most of the words, Jongdae rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm. _God_ , he’s exhausted.

Jongdae knows he should be asleep right now, but he can’t seem to let himself—not after getting a 58% on his latest Latin test. He did the math and everything; if he wants to pass Latin this year without absolutely _obliterating_ his GPA, he needs to get an A on his next and final exam—a feat that he really can’t accomplish without a few late-night study sessions. Usually, Jongdae pulls these all-nighters at home, but he’s not sure he can stomach being under the same roof as his roommates for more than two minutes without being assaulted with memories of the Couch Incident. Besides, his favorite study spot is the living room couch, and, well...

“Hey, Jongdae,” Junmyeon speaks up, interrupting Jongdae’s train of thought. “I need to get going—my shift is over. You okay with staying here by yourself?”

Jongdae blinks up from his notes. “Yeah, of course,” he replies. Huh, he always forgot that most people didn’t actually _like_ staying in a dusty room of the library until two in the morning.

Junmyeon smiles a little as he stuffs his book into a large backpack. “And, can you make sure that Yixing actually gets home? I don’t think he’s allowed to stay in the library overnight.”  
  
Jongdae glances over at the stoner sitting a few tables away from him, whom he assumes is Yixing. He’s stopped reading his book upside down, and is now asleep atop the table with his mouth agape in nearly inaudible snores. “Sure,” Jongdae says, even if he isn’t completely sure how he’s going to wake Yixing up when the time comes.

Junmyeon gives him another grateful smile. “Thanks, Jongdae,” he says, slinging his backpack on. He waves Jongdae goodbye as he heads for the exit. “Don’t work yourself too hard, okay?”

 _Too late_ , Jongdae thinks to himself. He plasters a half-hearted smile on his face as he waves Junmyeon goodbye. “Don’t worry,” he says, “I won’t.”

As Junmyeon disappears, Jongdae gathers his notes up and sighs in frustration. Despite being away from the prime distractions in his life (read: Chanyeol and Sehun), Jongdae can’t seem to study at all tonight. Maybe, he thinks, he just needs to approach this whole studying thing from a different angle. Maybe handwritten notes just weren’t for him right now.

After glancing over Yixing’s snoring figure one last time, Jongdae gets up from his seat and walks towards the bookshelves situated near the back of the room. He keeps walking until he reaches the Classics section, where he scans the shelves for anything that might be useful. He wants to practice his translation skills on an actual, unabridged Latin text, so he looks for anything that looks _old_ . And, not old as in old enough to buy its own alcohol old, but old as in old enough to stop breathing in its sleep on a retirement home bed without anyone questioning its death _old_. After a good minute of searching, his eyes fall on a dusty, brown book, the leathery spine cracked and sun damaged, probably a combination of both age and mishandling. Bingo.

Jongdae pulls the thin book out and examines the cover. “XXX,” he reads aloud. Thirty in Roman numerals; maybe this was the thirtieth volume in a series of Latin poems?

He cracks the book open. The first page is mostly blank, save for two words printed clearly in the middle in neat Latin: Noli aperire—do not open. He resists the urge to snort in derision. Ah, yes, how _intimidating_. He flips to the next page, and is immediately hit with a lengthy passage written in Latin. The lettering is tiny and the grammar is incredibly convoluted, but Jongdae is able to make out a few familiar vocabulary terms—gods, demons, forbidden love. He perks up. Maybe this was a collection of myths, or an epic of some kind. Either way, translating this would certainly be more interesting than poring over his own notes.

He quickly flips through the book to check how long it is. One page in the middle, the text on it written in bold, red lettering, catches his eye. He doesn’t recognize most of the words on the page, but he can tell by the irregular syntax that it’s meant to be some sort of poetic phrase. Maybe Jongdae could translate it and show it to his Latin professor for a few extra credit points.

He recites the sentence aloud in an attempt to gain some resemblance of its meaning. As soon as he finishes reading, a bright, almost blinding light shoots out of the pages of the book. Jongdae gasps and drops the book, the previously cool leather cover suddenly scalding hot in his hands. He covers his eyes with an arm in an attempt to shield himself from the light, stumbling backwards as he does so. After about thirty seconds, when the light seems to fade, Jongdae warily pulls his arm away from his eyes. He stumbles back again when his vision adjusts—standing just a few feet in front of him, as clear as the thin, brown book sprawled on the floor, is a pale, brunette man wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

_What the fuck._

“What the fuck,” Jongdae blurts out loudly.

The man squints at Jongdae, still holding the towel tightly around his waist, then he says something indecipherable. Jongdae, just barely, recognizes the language he speaks in as Latin.

“Q-Quis es?” Jongdae asks in shaky Latin, somehow able to remember the basic phrase in his shock.

The man gives him a short once-over and snorts before replying. “Gods, your pronunciation is terrible,” he says in English. Wait, _what_ ? “I can’t even understand what you’re trying to say.”

Jongdae blinks. “You… You speak English?” he asks cautiously.

The man raises an eyebrow. “Evidently.”

Jongdae frowns. It’s two in the morning, he’s been awake for nearly thirty six hours straight, and now some glowing, half-naked man who appeared in a cliched flash of blinding light is sassing him for his well-warranted surprise. Jongdae doesn’t have the time _nor_ the energy to be upset. “Who are you?” Jongdae says, translating his previous question into English.

The man stares at Jongdae in disbelief for a few seconds. Then, he crosses his arms across his chest and scoffs. “Oh, _sure_ ,” he says sarcastically. “I’m supposed to believe that you just summoned an all-powerful wish-conceding demon—who had been fifteen minutes into a very expensive full-body massage, by the way—without knowing who he was.”

 _Wow_ , that was a doozy of a sentence. The only thing Jongdae really catches is the word “massage”—which, in all honesty, isn’t too helpful in revealing much about this man. “A massage?” Jongdae says dumbly. “Is that why you’re wearing a towel?”

The man rolls his eyes and sighs in exasperation. “Okay, sure. You want me to recite the whole speech or something? I’ll play along.” He bows dramatically, flourishing his non-towel holding hand in the air. “Baekhyun Byun, 2157 years old,” he says in a theatrical voice as he stands back up. “Thirtieth demon prince of the Underworld. Sovereign of light, destroyer of mortals, fulfiller of your wildest dreams, etcetera etcetera. At your disposal.”

And, honestly, Jongdae doesn’t even know where to begin—still, he thinks that a solid start would be, “I’m sorry, did you just _destroyer of mortals_?”

Baekhyun waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Calm down,” he says nonchalantly. “That’s a former hobby of mine. I just haven’t had the time to come up with a new title. Besides, I only spar with warriors worthy of my time, not—” He looks Jongdae up and down again. “—uh, whatever you’re supposed to be.”

Jongdae scowls. “Excuse you, but I took taekwondo in high school, and your arms are _sticks_ compared to mine. I bet I could take you on.”

Baekhyun snorts again. “You think this is what I normally look like? If I were to change into my _actual_ form, your eyeballs would melt in their sockets because of my mere presence. And, even if you somehow managed to survive that, you wouldn’t last another second against me. My breath alone would be powerful enough to slam you against that wall, shattering your skull and snapping your neck.”

Jongdae shrugs. “Okay, but I have a black belt in taekwondo.”

Baekhyun squints at him. “Wow,” he says. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Well, I know you’re not a two thousand year old demon.”

Baekhyun lets out a laugh of disbelief. “Kid, what’re you talking about?” he asks. “I literally came out of a _book_. There was a beam of light and everything. What more proof do you need?”

Jongdae raises an eyebrow. “Well, for one,” he starts, “I find it hard to believe that a demon prince who speaks Latin would look like a Korean man in his twenties."

“This is just one of the many forms I use to blend in when I’m on your realm. Like I said before, I was enjoying a massage from a very prestigious spa in Koreatown, until you so _rudely_ summoned me,” Baekhyun replies. “But, now I’m stuck like this until you make all your wishes. So, yeah, I’d appreciate it if you could hurry up with that.”

Jongdae furrows his brow. “I’m sorry—wishes?”

Baekhyun sighs impatiently. “Yes, wishes,” he says. “You get three of them for summoning me. Once you make them all, I’m free to leave you.”

“So, you’re like, a genie?”

Baekhyun makes a face. “What? No! Have you even been listening to me? I’m a _wish-conceding demon_ , not a Robin Williams character.”

Before Jongdae can even start to comprehend the notion of a demon knowing the name Robin Williams, Baekhyun speaks up again. “So, what’ll it be?” he asks briskly. “World peace? All the gold you can fit in your bag? True happiness?”

Jongdae frowns a little. “Honestly, I’m still not convinced that you’re a demon.”

Baekhyun sighs again. “Gods, you’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” He flicks his hand in the air, and tens of books fly off the library shelves. Jongdae yelps and ducks down, but none of the books knock into him. None of them even touch the ground. Instead, they all assemble in the space above Baekhyun and Jongdae to form one word: _Happy?_

“Okay,” Jongdae says breathlessly as the books swoop back down to their respective shelves. “Okay, yeah. I believe you.”

(“Dude,” a wide-awake Yixing says once Jongdae and Baekhyun emerge from the bookshelves. “Those books just flew up in the air! Out of nowhere! I can’t be the only one who saw that.”

Jongdae sighs. He can practically _feel_ Baekhyun’s stare burning on his back, although he’s not sure if it’s his mind that’s playing tricks on him, or Baekhyun. “Dude,” Jongdae says, finally settling on the second option. “You’re _so_ high right now.”)

  


▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

  


Baekhyun scowls as he scratches at his neck. “Do I have to wear this?” he asks in a near whine, pushing his hoodie’s oversized sleeves up his arms. “It’s way too big, and it’s so itchy.”

“Yes, you do,” Jongdae answers immediately. Despite Baekhyun’s protests, Jongdae had insisted that Baekhyun put _some_ form of clothing on, especially since the only thing he had to cover his nether regions was a relatively skimpy towel. (The walk home had been absolutely mortifying, every passing stranger wolf-whistling and cheering as they leered at Baekhyun’s half-naked figure. Baekhyun had smirked and preened at the attention, zero sense of modesty or shame in his expression; Jongdae had tried not to sink into the concrete sidewalk out of second-hand embarrassment.) Since most of Jongdae’s sleep clothes were in the wash, he had borrowed one of Chanyeol’s hoodies and Sehun’s sweatpants and ordered Baekhyun to wear them, resulting in an oversized outfit that Baekhyun was nearly _swimming_ in. Jongdae almost finds it endearing, the way Baekhyun has to keep rolling the bottom of his sweatpants up so that he’s not stepping on them, or the way the hoodie sleeves create little sweater paws over his hands. Then, Jongdae remembers that he’s looking at a two thousand year old demon, and he doesn’t find Baekhyun so cute anymore.

“You have to blend into the human realm, right?” Jongdae asks as he walks over to the living room from the kitchen. He eyes the seat beside Baekhyun on the couch for a few seconds, then decides to sit cross-legged on the carpeted floor. “Then, you probably shouldn’t walk around in public with only a towel around your waist.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in public right now,” Baekhyun counters. “I don’t see why I have to stay clothed when there’s no one else around.”

Jongdae frowns. “First of all, my roommates are sleeping in the next room. If they were to walk out to living room to see, I don’t know, a _naked man_ sitting on the couch, they’d have a few questions for me. And, second of all—” He pauses to frown. “Why do you assume that I’d want to see you naked?”

Baekhyun makes a loud _pfft_ noise. “Don’t you?” Jongdae stares at him blankly. Baekhyun’s mouth drops open in genuine surprise. “Oh, come _on_. Have you seen me? I mean, this isn’t my most physically superior form, but, according to the general consensus of your simple minded, human beauty standards, it’s certainly one of my most attractive.”

Jongdae grimaces. Even by immortal, shapeshifting demon prince standards, Baekhyun is _painfully_ arrogant. “I don’t know,” Jongdae says with a nonchalant shrug. “You’re not really my type.”

Baekhyun snorts. “Oh, really? What’s your type, then? You’re not one of those weirdos who gets off from pictures of the Eiffel Tower, are you?”

Jongdae’s _type_ (not that it’s any of Baekhyun’s business in the first place) is boys with sparkling eyes, cheeks that plump up when they smile, and a laugh that makes Jongdae’s stomach do somersaults. Jongdae’s type is boys like Minseok, and, most importantly, Jongdae’s type is _not_ Baekhyun.

“No, I’m not,” Jongdae answers sharply. Desperate for a change in subject, he clears his throat. “So, three wishes; I can just ask for whatever?”

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow at Jongdae’s response, but doesn’t press him any further. “Essentially,” he answers. “Except for more wishes. Some smartass _always_ tries to ask for that.”

Jongdae makes a kind of humming noise in the back of his throat. “Huh. This is actually kind of dope,” he admits.

“Dope?” Baekhyun repeats slowly. “As in, the narcotic?”

Jongdae blinks. For a second there, Jongdae had forgotten that Baekhyun wasn’t necessarily the American college student he looked like. “No, it’s just slang. It means, like, sick,” Jongdae explains. Baekhyun blinks, and Jongdae tries again. “Like, cool, y’know? Great, good, awesome.”

Baekhyun’s eyes widen. “Ah, awesome!” he says, snapping his fingers once. “I know that one.”

He seems so excited by the revelation, that Jongdae can’t help chuckling. Baekhyun immediately clears his throat, wiping the triumphant smile off his face. “So, first wish,” he says, clasping his hands together. “What’ll it be?”

Jongdae stifles a yawn, suddenly hyper aware of just how _tired_ he is. “We can worry about that tomorrow,” he says dismissively. “Right now, we need to focus on one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

Jongdae furrows his brow. “Where the hell are you going to sleep?”

 

 

 

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As it turns out, demonic entities summoned from the moldy pages of a library book don't really need the same eight hours that humans do. This should, theoretically, solve the entire predicament with the sleeping arrangements, as Baekhyun could probably do whatever he wanted while Jongdae was asleep. Still, Jongdae can't help but feel a little uneasy about letting Baekhyun wander around the apartment when there was still the possibility of his roommates catching him in whatever incriminating (and probably inhuman) activity Baekhyun was bound to be in the midst of at who-the-fuck-knows in the morning. Jongdae knows that, with their relatively laid-back schedules composed of afternoon classes, the probability of either Sehun or Chanyeol leaving their shared bedroom before noon is slim; but he isn't prepared to take that chance.

Unfortunately, Jongdae feels just as uneasy about releasing Baekhyun from their apartment and onto campus. He's terrified—and reasonably so—that Baekhyun is going to do something so ridiculously conspicuous (similar to the flying book display back at the library) that he'll be forced to wipe the memories of everyone on the East Coast, or something equally as drastic.

"Gods," Baekhyun groans, "how old do you think I am? Two thousand, or two? Trust me, I can handle walking around a college campus for a few hours without knocking your feeble little planet off its axis."

Jongdae frowns as he pulls a few unused pillows out from his bedroom closet. He has a thick quilt spread out on the floor by the foot of his bed, and he throws the armful of pillows on top of it. "No way," Jongdae replies, busying himself by rummaging through his closet for spare blankets. "The moment I let you out the front door, you're probably going to set something on fire."

Baekhyun exhales in over-exaggerated exasperation, blowing his brunette bangs up and out of his forehead, but he doesn't try to refute Jongdae's point. "I still don't understand why I have to stay in your room the entire night," Baekhyun says. "What am I supposed to do here? Count the number of stitches on this pillow?" He wrinkles his nose and holds up one of the pillows Jongdae had thrown onto the floor with the tips of his thumb and index finger, like he's worried that the pillowcase holds some sort of deadly contagion. (Although, Jongdae isn't sure why an indestructible demon would be so concerned about catching the flu.)

"Ideally, yes," Jongdae answers. When he finally finds the blanket he had been looking for, he pulls it out and blindly throws it in Baekhyun's general direction. He ignores the unmistakable yelp that sounds directly after the loud thump of the blanket hitting something solid. "And, if you finish early, you can get started on that blanket."

Baekhyun groans again. "Gods. I have had to serve some pretty horrendous people in my time—heartless dictators, greedy grave robbers, _politicians_ —but you have got to be the worst."

Jongdae snorts. As shocked as Jongdae still is with Baekhyun's sudden materialization, he can't find much reason to _fear_ him. Baekhyun hasn't made any serious attempts at Jongdae's life so far, and Jongdae doesn't think he's actually able to. He assumes it's because of some binding, supernatural contract that Baekhyun isn't telling him about for the sake of his own ego, but Jongdae doesn't really care about the specifics—as long as Baekhyun isn't trying to incapacitate him with some freaky demonic shit, Jongdae doesn't think he has to worry about it. Besides, now that Jongdae's had a good look at him, Baekhyun doesn't look that intimidating in the first place. He's short and slender in frame, with small hips and slim shoulders that, coupled with his almost comedically oversized outfit, make him look more like a middle school girl going through puberty than the all-powerful demon he claims to be. In fact, Jongdae thinks offhandedly, if he had met Baekhyun as a stranger on the bus or on campus someplace, instead of as an irritatingly loudmouthed demon in the library at two in the morning, Jongdae might've found him just slightly attractive. _Slightly_ being the key word.

"Well, I'm sorry that I couldn't be more accommodating," Jongdae deadpans. "Next time I summon you, I'll be sure to do it during a time when neither of my roommates are home. For now, though, please stay out of trouble long enough for me to go to bed. I have a class at 9:30 tomorrow, which means I need to be up in," he glances down at his wristwatch, "six short hours."

Baekhyun opens his mouth, as if to argue with Jongdae, then presses his lips back together in a small pout. (And, well, that's just _ridiculous_ , because how the hell does a demon pout?) "Fine," he says in a clipped voice, sitting down on the makeshift bed Jongdae had constructed for him. "I just hope you know that you're pissing off the wrong wish-granting demon here."

Jongdae takes one last look at the almost puppy-like pout on Baekhyun’s lips, the childish way he has his arms pressed against his chest as he sulks on the floor with crossed legs. "Okay," Jongdae says as he gets into his own bed, clearly unconvinced. "I'll keep that in mind."

 

 

 

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If there's one thing that Jongdae has attained from his incredibly pathetic crush on Minseok (aside from the occasional bouts of sweaty palms, stomach pains, and momentary inability to speak English), it is a very hearty appreciation for coffee and its effects. To this day, Jongdae can't start his morning off well without a visit to his favorite coffee shop for an extra-large cup of pure, unadulterated caffeine. Jongdae isn't necessarily _dependent_ on his morning coffee, but he's noticeably different without it—crankier, less peppy, and more likely to fling his pencil at the next person who asks him for the time, because goddamnit Mark, there's a clock _right there_.

Both his roommates have discovered the hard way that in the thirty minute window of time between Jongdae waking up and Jongdae receiving his morning coffee, Jongdae is not to bothered. This means no questions, no complaints, no loud noises—nothing that could be even remotely irritating to a still half-asleep Jongdae.

Clearly, Baekhyun does not get the memo.

"Ugh," Baekhyun comments with a disdainfully pinched expression as he peers into Jongdae's wardrobe. "Don't you own anything that isn't an unfunny t-shirt or jeans with unintentional rips in them?"

Jongdae scowls, because he really isn't in the _mood_ right now, not this early in the morning. "Shut up and change," he says tersely, shoving a crumpled outfit into Baekhyun's arms.

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow. "Well, _someone's_ a little snappy today." Still, he doesn't continue to argue with Jongdae. Instead, he pulls his oversized hoodie over his head, revealing a state of undress that Jongdae's dormant brain doesn't process for a good five seconds.

"Woah, woah!" Jongdae says quickly, grabbing Baekhyun's wrist before he can fully pull his sweatpants down. "Not... not yet. Let me leave the room first. Please."

Baekhyun stares at Jongdae in confusion for a few seconds, then rolls his eyes in exasperated understanding. "Oh, right," he sighs, "I forgot. You have that weird thing about me being naked."

"It's not a _weird thing_ ," Jongdae counters. "In fact, my thing is a very reasonable of weird, thank you very much.” He winces a little at his own phrasing, then shakes his head. “Is it so hard to understand that I just don't want to see you naked because I have a healthy sense of decency?"

Baekhyun gives him a lazy smirk. "Oh, really? Decency? Then, why is your hand so close to my crotch right now?"

Almost in slow motion, Jongdae's eyes trail down to where his own hand is still wrapped around Baekhyun's wrist. Baekhyun hasn't moved his fingers out from under the waistband of his sweatpants since he started pulling them down, and Jongdae is _dangerously_ close to accidentally brushing a thumb against the front of Baekhyun's crotch.

Jongdae releases Baekhyun's wrist in one sharp motion, his cheeks flushing from fluster. Baekhyun cackles gleefully. "Oh, this is going to be _fun_."

"Just come out when you're done," Jongdae grumbles, ignoring Baekhyun's comment as he stomps out of his bedroom.

When Baekhyun walks out of the bedroom a few minutes later, Jongdae tries his best not to stare. As much as Baekhyun isn't Jongdae's type, he's still, conventionally, kind of _hot_. The fact that he's wearing an outfit that actually fits him today—even if said outfit is just a simple, white t-shirt with black skinny jeans—only emphasizes this fact. "These pants are so tight," Baekhyun complains, rubbing his hands on his thighs through the fabric of his jeans. "How can you wear them? I feel like they're cutting off all my circulation."

Almost immediately, Jongdae loses every notion in his mind of Baekhyun being even _slightly_ good-looking. He rolls his eyes. "Why don't you use your powers to make them looser?" he says sarcastically, walking back through the bedroom door.

"Because, _Jongdae_ , I'm an all-powerful entity with the ability to create and destroy worlds." Baekhyun gives Jongdae a look. "Not a tailor."

Jongdae rolls his eyes again. For someone who communicates solely in sarcasm, Baekhyun seems to have trouble recognizing it in other people's remarks. "Just give me two minutes to change," Jongdae says. "Try not to wake my roommates up while you’re alone out here."

Baekhyun hitches an eyebrow. "Again," he says, "I'm two thousand. Not two."

"Seriously," Jongdae says, almost pleadingly. "I really don't want them asking me questions about who you are."

Baekhyun sighs. Still, he moves two of his fingers across his lips in the universal gesture of zipping one's lips shut, then flicks his wrist over his shoulder as if to throw the key away. Jongdae, probably deranged from the severe lack of caffeine in his system, actually smiles at this. Luckily, Baekhyun turns his back towards the doorway before he can notice. Jongdae forces his smile into a frown, then closes the bedroom door in front of him before his stupid, stupid brain can do something else in its pre-caffeine stupor.

(But, not before a small voice in the back of his brain can point out how nicely Baekhyun’s jeans cling to the curve of his ass. Stupid, stupid brain.)

 

 

 

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"I will _never_ understand how you humans can drink that sludge."

Jongdae huffs out a laugh. He tightens his grip on the cardboard sleeve ensconcing the cup in his hands, letting the warmth of his drink seep into cold-stiffened fingers. "See, it's stuff like that," Jongdae points out. "This is why I'm scared to let you walk around town by yourself. If you didn't refer to everyone as _you humans_ or to coffee as _sludge_ , I would probably be more at ease with leaving you alone."

"But, that's what those things are?" Baekhyun furrows his brow, looking genuinely confused. "I don't understand. How is me calling you human any different from you calling your parents mom or dad?"

"Well, up here on Earth, the fact that a walking, talking biped would be human is kinda implied. At this point, it's expected." Jongdae takes a long sip from his coffee, exhaling loudly afterwards just to make Baekhyun wrinkle his nose in disgust. "And, I'll have you know that this _sludge_ is the only reason I'm not judo-flipping you onto the ground right now."

Baekhyun snorts quietly, and Jongdae swears he hears him mumble, "As if you could do that in the first place," under his breath. "Okay, sure, whatever," Baekhyun says aloud. "Now, can we please talk about your wishes?"

Jongdae had _completely_ forgotten about the wishes Baekhyun had promised to him. Though, now that he isn't dangerously sleep-deprived, his head feeling much clearer after half a cup of coffee and a night of sleep, Jongdae can feel his mind coming up with a hundred different questions. What was he supposed to wish for first? What were his limitations? Was world peace too cliched of a wish? Or, was he a dick if he _didn't_ wish for world peace?

"Honestly, I haven't thought too hard about what I'm going to wish for," Jongdae admits.

Baekhyun sighs impatiently. "Well, start thinking, then," he says. "The sooner I grant you your three wishes, the sooner I can stop looking at your face."

" _Gee_ , thanks."

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. "Oh, come _on_ ," he says. "Don't act like the feeling isn't mutual."

It is, but Jongdae doesn't admit to it out loud—he doesn't want to give Baekhyun the satisfaction. "Y'know, it's really not as easy as you’re making it sound," Jongdae insists. "Three wishes isn't that much. What if I ask for the wrong thing, and end up regretting it afterwards?"

"If it makes you feel better, you're probably going to end up wishing for the wrong thing anyways, regardless of whether you think about it or not," Baekhyun supplies.

Jongdae scowls at Baekhyun, but before he can tell him that _no_ , that does not make him feel better in the slightest, he hears his own name being called out from across the cramped coffeeshop. Jongdae turns his head towards the voice instinctively—then, he nearly drops his cup of coffee.

"Oh," Jongdae croaks weakly. "Hey, Minseok."

Minseok gives Jongdae an amused smile as he makes his way over to his table. "Hey yourself," he says. "What's with that look? You're acting like you've never seen me buy coffee here before."

Jongdae forces out a laugh, because of _course_ he's seen Minseok here before. The fact that he's seen Minseok here before is the entire reason why Jongdae walks the extra few blocks to _this_ coffeeshop rather than the Starbucks near his apartment building. He just hadn't thought to consider this before deciding to bring Baekhyun with him. "Sorry, I don't think the caffeine's kicked in yet," Jongdae lies with a small shake of his head. "I'm still kind of asleep."

Minseok nods sympathetically. "'Tis the plight of a sleep-deprived college student." He glances over at Baekhyun, who has been using his exclusion from the conversation to squint and stare at Minseok with an expression not unlike that of a scientist scrutinizing an insect under a microscope. Jongdae doesn't blame Minseok for the slightly uncomfortable expression in his eyes as he tries to smile at Baekhyun. "Hi, I've never seen you around campus before," Minseok says to Baekhyun. "Are you a friend of Jongdae's?"

Much to Jongdae's horror, Baekhyun just continues to stare at Minseok with that unsettling expression of his. Jongdae laughs nervously, and pulls Baekhyun back by his shirt collar as he starts leaning forward to get a closer look at Minseok. "This is Baekhyun. He's a, uh, distant cousin," Jongdae answers quickly. "He doesn't speak much English. He's, um, Korean."

Minseok lets out an _ahh_ of understanding. "It's a good thing I always paid attention during Korean lessons as a kid, then." He turns to Baekhyun and says something sharp and quick that sounds vaguely like Korean—although Jongdae isn't too sure, because the only phrases he remembers from his own informal Korean lessons from the lady who always serves his table at the Korean barbecue place near campus are "hello" and "pass the kimchi, please."

Surprisingly, Baekhyun replies with what sounds like extremely authentic Korean. (Although, again, Jongdae isn't too sure.) Minseok's polite smile shifts into wide grin as he responds with more Korean, and the two of them launch into a full-on conversation, exchanging rapid-fire sentences as Jongdae watches on helplessly. After a minute or so, both Minseok and Baekhyun laugh loudly. Jongdae laughs as well in an attempt to feel less awkward, but it only makes him feel all the more embarrassed.

"Well, it was really nice talking to you and your cousin, but I have to get to class," Minseok says in English, directing his smile at Jongdae now. "See you in Chinese tomorrow, Jongdae."

As Minseok walks out of his door, one hand clutching onto his own cup of coffee and the other waving Baekhyun and Jongdae goodbye, Baekhyun lets out an impressed whistle. "I see why you like him," he says. "He's very charming."

Jongdae splutters incredulously. "Excuse me?" he asks in a choked voice. "When did I ever say anything about liking him?"

Baekhyun snorts. " _Please_." He crosses his legs together and starts fluttering his eyelashes rapidly. "Oh," he says in a breathy, high-pitched voice probably meant to imitate Jongdae's. "Hey, Minseok. This is Baekhyun. He's my cousin, not my boyfriend. Which means, if you want, I'm available to suck your di—"

"Shut _up_ ," Jongdae hisses, reaching an arm behind Baekhyun to slap him hard on the back of his neck.

Baekhyun yelps in pain, rubbing at the spot where Jongdae had hit him with a small pout on his lips. "Geez. I was going to suggest a wish that might make him fall in love with you, but whatever. I guess you don't want to hear it."

The way Jongdae perks up must be more noticeable than he realizes, because Baekhyun starts smirking almost instantly. "You... you can do that?" Jongdae asks warily, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Jongdae, I have enough power in my pinky finger to destroy entire worlds. I know what happened to _Tupac_." Baekhyun raises an eyebrow. "I think I can handle a little manipulation of human pheromones."

"But, isn't that, like, _unethical_?" Jongdae says uneasily. "I don't think I would be very pleased if I knew someone else was messing with my emotions like that."

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. "Gods. You humans and your pesky morals." He props his arms onto the table and leans forward, staring straight into Jongdae's eyes. "Look, do you want to stutter and stammer around Minseok like a fucking anime schoolgirl for the rest of your life, or do you want him to actually like you back?"

Jongdae furrows his brow. "How do you even know what anime is?"

Baekhyun frowns. " _Jongdae_."

He sighs. "The second option," Jongdae answers in a mumble.

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow. "Y'know, I can't grant your wish if you don't actually say it aloud."

Jongdae groans. "Okay, fine," he snaps. "I wish..." he lowers his voice, "I wish Minseok liked me back."

Baekhyun cups his hand to his ear, blinking in faux naïveté. "I'm sorry? I couldn't hear you. Could you repeat that for me?"

Jongdae grits his teeth together. "I said that I wish Minseok liked me back," he repeats in a louder voice. A few people nearby turn to look at him, some of them giggling and whispering to each other.

"Hey, quiet down," Baekhyun says. "Some people are trying to enjoy their breakfast here."

As Baekhyun snickers to himself, Jongdae grimaces. "Oh, lighten up," Baekhyun says, still laughing a little. "I'm just messing with you."

"Well, you're hilarious," Jongdae deadpans.

Baekhyun grins at him. "Thanks, I like to think so myself." He clears his throat, then snaps his fingers in the air. "Okay; the deed has been done."

"Wait—that quickly?"

"What can I say?" Baekhyun says smugly. "I'm good at what I do."

Jongdae blinks. "Wow. Uh, thanks, I guess."

"No problem," Baekhyun says. "So, that's one wish down. Wanna just knock the other two out while we're at it?"

He's speaking in a rushed voice now, Jongdae notes, as if he's trying to get Jongdae to hurry up and ask for all three of his wishes before... before _something_. "Nah," Jongdae says. "I think I'll take a little longer to think."

Baekhyun's face seems to fall at this answer—though Jongdae thinks he might be imagining it, because he's grinning again no more than a split second later. "Suit yourself," he says with a shrug. "Hey; didn't you say that you had a class at 9:30 today?"

Jongdae frowns. "Yeah. Why do you ask?"

He shrugs again. "Well, I don't know how long it takes for you to get to class—but that clock over there says it's 9:28 right now."

Jongdae whips his head over to the clock Baekhyun is pointing at, his eyes widening. He usually needed at least ten minutes to walk to class from the coffeeshop, so if Baekhyun's telling the truth—

"Fuck," he says loudly, attracting a few more stares. He drains the rest of his now-lukewarm coffee, then crumples the flimsy cup in one hand and throws it into a nearby trash bin. "Why didn't you let me know before?"

"Well, excuse me, I was trying to fulfill your wish," Baekhyun says defensively. "Pardon me for doing my job."

Jongdae exhales in frustration, throwing his backpack on over his shoulders. "Yeah, yeah, hurry it up," he says, gesturing for Baekhyun to get up from his seat. "I'm already late enough as it is."

Baekhyun stands up at a painstakingly slow pace, then actually takes the time to stretch, raising his arms toward the ceiling and standing on his toes. Jongdae groans and grabs his wrist, pulling him towards the exit himself. "Hey, slow down!" Baekhyun calls out as Jongdae drags him out of the coffeeshop. "What's with the hurry?"

Jongdae sighs.

 

 

 

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To be completely honest, Jongdae has no idea what to expect after making his wish. He fully believes that Baekhyun has the ability to fulfill his wish, but he isn't exactly sure _how_ he'll go about fulfilling it. To be more specific, Jongdae isn't sure what to look out for. Is Minseok going to act differently towards him right away? Or, is it going to be a more subtle change, one that starts with Minseok talking to him more comfortably, and ends with them dating a reasonable amount of time later? Is it possible for Jongdae to fuck something up on his end, completely negating his wish's effects? And, did he fuck things up already, without knowing? The only answer that Jongdae receives is a like from Minseok's account on his latest Instagram post—which is much appreciated, but not helpful in the slightest.

So, the moment Jongdae walks into the lecture hall for Chinese class the next day, he looks for a sign from Minseok; a meaningful stare, a particularly large smile, a fucking message tapped out in Morse code, _something_. When Minseok greets him with the same small smile and "Hey, Jongdae," as usual, Jongdae feels a slight sense of uneasiness settle in his stomach. Maybe the wish simply hasn't taken effect yet.

"Is your cousin going to be sitting in on class with us today?" Minseok asks, smiling politely in Baekhyun's direction and greeting him with a short a _nnyeonghaseyo_.

Jongdae nods and takes his usual seat beside Minseok. "Yeah," he answers. "He's thinking of maybe applying here next year, and he wants to see what the language classes are like."

In actuality, Jongdae still doesn't trust Baekhyun to walk around campus by himself while he's busy in class, so he had started bringing him along to his classes and telling his professors that he was a foreign exchange student shadowing him for the day. Baekhyun, claiming to prefer English to all the other non-Latin languages he knew how to speak, seemed generally displeased with having to speak Korean all the time in order to keep up this charade—which, in turn, amused Jongdae greatly.

"So, Minseok," Jongdae continues, choosing his words carefully. "How are you doing today?"

Minseok shrugs. "I'm alright," he answers. "A little tired, but that's about it. How about you?"

Jongdae blinks, trying not to show his alarm—because if the wish had already taken effect, Minseok was doing a _damn_ good job of hiding it. "I could be better," Jongdae answers, turning towards Baekhyun with an inquisitive expression. Baekhyun dodges his gaze almost immediately, suddenly enthralled with the act of picking at a loose thread on his pants leg. Jongdae narrows his eyes suspiciously, because _huh_. That couldn't be a good sign.

Minseok furrows his brows together in worry. "Oh. Is something wrong? Do you want to talk about it?" Jongdae nearly construes his concern as an effect of the wish, until he remembers that Minseok is _always_ concerned, because it's just the type of person he is—which means that _someone_ has a little explaining to do.

"No, I'll be fine." Jongdae turns to face Baekhyun again, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. "Actually, can you do me a favor and save my seat for me while I step out? I need to chat with my _cousin_ here for a few minutes."

Baekhyun, still avoiding Jongdae's gaze, turns to Minseok with a blank expression and says something in Korean. Jongdae, as usual, has no idea what he's saying—but, judging from the stunned, wide-eyed expression on Minseok's face, Jongdae doesn't think he's just asking for the time.

Jongdae lets out a loud laugh. "Oh, Baekhyun, you're such a _jokester_ ," he says in an overly friendly voice. "Come on, don't you remember that we have that, uh, _thing_ we need to talk about?"

When Jongdae gets up out of his seat and gestures for Baekhyun to do the same, he just stays in his seat and repeats the same Korean phrase from before. Jongdae grits his teeth and physically drags Baekhyun out of his seat himself, pulling him towards the exit. As Baekhyun repeats the same sentence over and over again in Korean, each reiteration increasing in both volume and distress, Minseok watches with an expression of mild horror on his face.

"What the hell were you saying back there?" Jongdae hisses to Baekhyun once they're out of the lecture hall. "Minseok looked like you were insulting his grandmother."

"What? You mean—" Baekhyun recites the Korean phrase again, and a student walking past them looks up from their phone and at them with a disturbed expression.

Baekhyun shrugs. "I was just saying that you were embarrassed about shitting your pants in class yesterday."

"What?" Jongdae blurts loudly. "Why the _fuck_ would you say that?"

Baekhyun blinks with fabricated innocence. "Because you told Minseok that you needed a few minutes to talk with me outside?"

Jongdae groans, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "So you told him that I shit my pants in class yesterday?"

"It was a heat of the moment decision."

Somehow, based off of the calm, distress-free expression on Baekhyun's face, Jongdae doesn't think it was. "Okay, whatever," Jongdae says, shaking his head. "That's not what we're here to talk about." Again, Baekhyun starts avoiding Jongdae's gaze, instead choosing to stare at a small scuff mark on the linoleum floor. Jongdae places his hands on Baekhyun's cheeks, and redirects his head so that he's forced to look him straight in the eye. "Tell me what happened with my fucking wish."

Baekhyun, his lips slightly pursed from the way Jongdae is squishing his cheeks together, widens his eyes. "What do you mean?" he asks with faux innocence. "Do you need me to explain how this whole wishes thing works again? See, you have three wishes, and you used one of them yesterday, which means you have two le—"

"I understand how it works!" Jongdae snaps. "And, as far as I know, you haven't granted my first wish yet."

"As far as I know, I have." Baekhyun wriggles free from Jongdae's hold. "You wished for Minseok to like you back, didn't you?"

"Yeah, and that's _not_ what's happening in there."

"Are you sure about that?"

Jongdae frowns. "Yeah, I'm sure. He isn't treating me any different than he usually is. I mean, the only interaction we've had that was even remotely out of the ordinary since yesterday was when he liked one of my posts on Instagram, but that's only weird because he never checks his—" He stops abruptly when he notices the knowing grin spreading across Baekhyun's lips. Then, Jongdae's jaw drops. "No. No, no, no, no. No, please tell me you didn't."

Somehow, Baekhyun is able to turn his grin into an inquisitive frown. "What's wrong? I mean, that's what you wished for, isn't it?"

Jongdae groans. "No, I wanted him to like _me_ , not like my—" He breaks off in the middle of his sentence to let out another groan.

"Wait, that's not what you meant by your wish?" Baekhyun, the little _dipshit_ , actually pretends to look surprised by this discovery, his eyes going even wider and his lips forming a little _o_. "Oops. My bad."

Jongdae glares at him. "Fuck. You."

Baekhyun shrugs, finally dropping the act of innocence. "I did warn you not to piss me off, didn't I?"

Jongdae stares at him in disbelief. "You fucked one of my wishes up because I wouldn't let you go out while I was asleep?"

Baekhyun scoffs. "Don't flatter yourself. I would've done it regardless."

And, suddenly, Baekhyun's impatience to have Jongdae make all his three wishes at once yesterday makes sense. "But _why_ ?" Jongdae asks, unable to comprehend how anyone could have it in them to pull such an _asshole_ move.

Baekhyun hitches an eyebrow. "Uh, hello? I'm a wish-granting _demon_. Not a genie. Honestly, if you didn't see this one coming, you need to watch more TV."

Jongdae scowls, ready to spit out another expletive along the lines of _fuck_ and _you_ —but, then, he remembers something. "Fine," he says, shrugging with an air of nonchalance. "Mess with my wishes as much as you want. I just hope you know that means I'm less likely to wish for something without thinking about it for a longer time now."

"Go ahead," Baekhyun drawls. "I have all the time in the world. It's not like I'm going to _die_ anytime soon."

Jongdae raises an eyebrow, smirking a little. "Really? So, you're prepared to wait as long as it takes for me to come up with the rest of my wishes? Even if that means you have to stay on Earth as a tiny, insignificant _human_ for the entire time?"

At the last sentence, Baekhyun blanches. "No," he says, his eyes wide with genuine fear now. "You wouldn't."

Jongdae tries not to derive much pleasure from how pale Baekhyun's face looks all of a sudden. (He fails.) "Wouldn't I?"

"You're bluffing," Baekhyun claims with an accusatory finger pointed in Jongdae’s direction. "I know what you humans are like. You care about your wishes too much. You would never stall them just to watch me suffer."

Jongdae smiles that same sickeningly sweet smile from before, although with a lot more promise in it than before. "Try me."

 

 

 

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

 

 

 

Their relationship reaches a bit of a stalemate after that: Jongdae refuses to make his last two wishes until Baekhyun starts behaving, and Baekhyun refuses to start behaving until Jongdae makes his last two wishes. The impasse doesn't make much sense—but, at the very least, Jongdae has the upper hand. Even if Baekhyun is acting out more than ever, he stops complaining every time Jongdae makes him put on a pair of pants, and he doesn't wander around the apartment anymore when either Chanyeol or Sehun are home. He's still as irritating as one would imagine a demon prince to be, but he's toned down his levels of _annoying_ from thirteen to a cool ten. (Of course, this scale is also out of ten—but it's an improvement.)

Three weeks pass, and Jongdae thinks Baekhyun is almost ready to forfeit to this ridiculous standoff—until his roommates fuck it up. Literally.

"Oh my God."

At the sound of Jongdae's voice, Chanyeol scrambles off of Sehun's (thankfully clothed) body and accidentally rolls off of the couch, his tailbone hitting the floor with a loud _thump_ . Jongdae would laugh, if he wasn't currently trying to determine the best way to rinse the _harrowing_ sight he'd just witnessed off of his eyelids.

"Jongdae," Chanyeol croaks from the floor. "You're home early."

"Oh my God," Jongdae repeats, massaging the bridge of his nose with both hands. "Oh my _God_."

"It's not what it looks like!" Chanyeol insists frantically.

"It looks like you two were about to have sex on the couch again," Jongdae says in a flat voice. "After I _specifically_ asked you, 'Hey, could you two like, I don't know, _stop having sex on the couch_?'"

Chanyeol opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, sort of like a goldfish. Sehun just makes an impressed noise in the back of his throat. "Huh. I guess it's exactly what it looks like, then," Sehun says.

Jongdae sighs. "Why? Why would you do this to me again? Was one time not enough?"

"Apparently not," Sehun answers, using Chanyeol's disappearance from the couch to stretch his legs out and tuck his hands under the back of his head. "Maybe Chanyeol just has a kink for getting caught."

Chanyeol splutters, his cheeks flushing red. "What? No! I genuinely didn't think Jongdae would get home until—" He stops speaking as he looks over Jongdae's shoulder, and at Baekhyun. "Oh. Who is... who is that?"

Everyone in the room turns to face Baekhyun at the same time, like some sort of cheesy horror movie gimmick. Baekhyun, clearly caught by surprise, slowly raises a hand up and says, " _Annyeong_?"

The room is silent for a few seconds, until Sehun whistles appreciatively. "Dude," he says to Jongdae. "You're smashing one of the Korean foreign exchange students? _Nice_."

Before Jongdae gets the chance to _fervently_ refute that point, Baekhyun does it for him. "Excuse me," he says in English, sounding highly offended. "But he is not _smashing_ me in any way, shape, or form. Trust me, if I wasn't spiritually bound by a verbal contract right now, _I_ would be the one smashing _him_."

Jongdae has never wanted more than right now for his carpet to swallow him whole, and obliterate the fact that his entire presence on Earth ever existed.

Sehun and Chanyeol, clearly holding back laughter, exchange obnoxious smirks. "Well, now we know who tops," Sehun mumbles, just loud enough for Jongdae to hear.

Chanyeol lets out a snorting snicker, then covers it up with a badly impersonated cough.

"Guys, stop it," Jongdae says sharply. "He's my cousin."

"Gross, you're having sex with your _cousin_?" Chanyeol blurts out.

Sehun starts wheezing like a dying manatee at that, loud cackles shaking his entire body. Baekhyun just looks confused, and, for once, Jongdae feels sorry for him. "No, he's _actually_ my cousin," Jongdae says. "He's visiting from Korea."

"Really?" Sehun asks, sounding a little suspicious. "I thought both your parents were only children. How is it possible for you to have a cousin, much less a Korean one?"

Not for the first time in his life, Jongdae curses Sehun's freakish ability to remember the most _arbitrary_ facts about people. "He's a very distant cousin," Jongdae answers vaguely.

Chanyeol furrows his brow. "Even so, it's not possible for you to have any cousins when your parents don—"

"Anyways!" Jongdae interjects loudly. "Baekhyun and I have to get going to my room! There's that, uh, thing I need to show him."

"Right," Baekhyun adds. "You were going to show me your collection of...dog teeth?"

Jongdae gives Baekhyun a _what the fuck_ look. Baekhyun shrugs.

"Dog teeth? Really?" Jongdae says, once they're fully out of the living room.

"It was a heat of the moment response," Baekhyun insists, and Jongdae wonders whether that was his excuse for _everything_. "Hey, so, now that your roommates know who I am, does that mean I don't have to stay in your room all the time?"

Jongdae frowns. "Well, not really. They still seem really suspicious of me. At the very least, I think Sehun's figured out that you're not actually my cousin."

Baekhyun snorts. "Well, no _shit_ ," he says. "Why would you say that I'm your cousin when you know you don't have one?"

"It was a heat of the moment response," Jongdae answers sarcastically.

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. "Well, that's just obnoxious when _you_ say it."

Jongdae, choosing not to delve too deeply into the headache-inducing irony behind that statement, lets out a loud sigh. "Just, try not to tip my roommates off about you not being my cousin, okay?" Chanyeol and Sehun were already much too involved with Jongdae's personal life as it was, and Jongdae isn't sure how they'd react to knowing that he had a wish-granting demon at his disposal as well.

Baekhyun frowns, then starts smirking—which is _never_ a good sign. "Wait, so, you don't want your roommates to find out that I'm not your cousin? Is that what you're saying?"

Jongdae raises an eyebrow. "Well, yeah. That's... that's what I just said."

" _Interesting_ ," Baekhyun says in an annoyingly high-pitched voice. "It seems like I have the upper hand here, doesn't it? Oh, how the tables have _turned_."

"Just get to the point already," Jongdae snaps.

"Let me propose a deal," Baekhyun says. "If you make your last two wishes by the end of this week, I will act like an angel the entire time I am here." Again, Jongdae tries not to contemplate the irony of Baekhyun, a _literal_ demon, comparing himself to an angel.

"Why should I accept that, when I know you're just going to use my wishes against me?" Jongdae asks. "I mean, that's what you did with my first wish."

Baekhyun places one hand over his heart and the other in the air. "I promise that, as long as you phrase your wish carefully, I won't fuck with you."

Jongdae raises an eyebrow. "And, why should I believe a promise from you? You've been nothing but untrustworthy so far."

"Hey—I want to leave you as much as you want me gone," Baekhyun points out. "If all it takes for me to get back to my massage in Koreatown is stay quiet until the end of the week…”

Jongdae hesitates, then nods. "Alright, but you better be on your _best_ behavior. If you slip up even once, I'll make sure that you stay on this pathetic planet until the day I die."

As Baekhyun grimaces, Jongdae holds his hand out for him to shake. Baekhyun stares at the outstretched hand with a dumbfounded expression. "Oh, come on," Jongdae says. "There's no way you've never heard of a _handshake_ before."

"Of course I've heard of handshakes," Baekhyun says sharply. "I'm an immortal, not an imbecile. I just... as a demon, I like to avoid handshakes. They're even more binding than verbal invocations, and the consequences can be dire if I break a promise under one."

"So, handshakes are like, the demonic equivalent of a pinky promise?"

Baekhyun makes a face. "That's a bit crude, but sure, if that analogy helps you."

"That's even better, then," Jongdae declares, wiggling the fingers of his outstretched hand. "This way, I _know_ you won't go back on your word."

Baekhyun snorts. Jongdae recognizes it as his _silly humans_ snort, the one he brings out whenever Jongdae (or any person, for that matter) does something that he doesn't really understand. The snort is usually dripping with disdain for the human race, and for Jongdae in particularly, but Jongdae swears that he detects just the slightest hint of endearment today. He must be imagining it.

"What are we even shaking on?" Baekhyun asks warily, even as he slips his hand into Jongdae's.

Jongdae tries not to startle at how _warm_ Baekhyun's hand is, his palm soft and smooth and surprisingly callous free. Sure, Baekhyun is in his human form right now, and it makes the most sense for his hands to _feel_ like a human's, but sometimes, Jongdae forgets. "We're shaking on the fact that I'm going to make my two wishes by the end of the week, on the condition that you behave until then. And, that if either of us go against those agreements, we will be stricken down by the benevolent gods themselves."

Baekhyun snorts again, and _yeah_ , there's definitely a bit of endearment tinging the sound. Huh. "Alright, calm down, Faulkner," he says. "I think just that first part is fine."

He tightens his grip on Jongdae's hand, and shakes it up and down. Soon after, Jongdae feels something pleasantly warm bubble inside of his chest, spreading to his feet, his neck, his face. When the warmth reaches his fingers, his hand starts tingling with something akin to the sensation you get in your foot when your leg falls asleep, except stronger, _hotter_. It reminds Jongdae of how the book in the library had felt like, and he reacts the same way, dropping Baekhyun's hand from his grip almost instantly.

"Okay," Baekhyun says, seeming relatively unfazed from the entire ordeal. "We officially have a deal."

Jongdae, wiping the sudden sheen of sweat on his palms onto his jeans, grins a little. "Dope."

"Yeah," Baekhyun says with a pleased smile, one that does something kind of _weird_ to Jongdae's insides. He brushes it off as another weird effect of the handshake, because any other reason complicates things _far_ too much. "Dope."

 

 

 

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

 

 

 

It’s a little strange, how easily Baekhyun is able to just _turn off_ his affinity for snark and mischief in the following week. Although he doesn’t start obeying Jongdae’s orders to a T, he stops being an ass for the sake of—well, for the sake of being an _ass_. He stops insulting Jongdae’s wardrobe, he doesn’t say random and slightly traumatizing things to Minseok in Korean anymore, he actually refers to Jongdae by his name and not “human”; he even stops Jongdae from accidentally walking out onto the street during a red light, wordlessly pressing an arm against Jongdae’s chest as a car zooms by in front of them.

And, it’s even stranger, how much Jongdae is actually starting to _enjoy_ the demon’s company. When Baekhyun isn’t busy making snide remarks about how inept the entire human race is, he’s not too bad to be around. Sure, he’s got the expected conversational quirks of a two thousand year old demon (the most terrifying being when he accidentally starts speaking Latin mid-sentence, and Jongdae tries not to imagine that he’s performing some sort of satanic ritual without the other knowing); but he’s witty, and he gets a nice smile on his face whenever he finds something funny. Sometimes, Jongdae even finds himself going out of his way to decide on the joke that’ll make Baekhyun laugh the hardest—and, well, that’s just not how things are supposed to _go_.

If Jongdae’s life was a badly written made-for-TV movie aired on Disney Channel, Jongdae would use Baekhyun’s wishes to come up with a plan that’ll get Minseok and him together; because Jongdae’s type is boys with sparkling eyes, cheeks that plump up when they smile, and a laugh that makes Jongdae’s stomach do somersaults. Jongdae’s type is boys like Minseok, and, most importantly, Jongdae’s type is _not_ —

“Baekhyun,” Minseok says, startling Jongdae out of his thoughts. “He’s not with you. Did he go back to Korea?”

Jongdae blinks in surprise. He didn’t think Minseok would notice Baekhyun’s disappearance that easily, let alone at all. “Uh, no,” he answers. “Professor Li noticed that he wasn’t actually a part of the roster, and asked for him to stop coming to lectures.”

“Oh,” Minseok says. “That’s too bad. I was getting used to him here.”

Jongdae shrugs, trying not to let the disappointment in Minseok’s voice get to him. “Well, he’ll have to go back to Korea eventually,” he says. “Might as well get used to his absence.”

“I guess you’re right,” Minseok admits. He glances down at his lap for a few seconds, almost shyly so, then looks back up at Jongdae with nervous eyes. “Actually, I kinda wanted to ask you something. About Baekhyun.”

Jongdae swallows thickly, hoping, _praying_ that he’s imagining the flustered blush on Minseok’s cheeks. “Yeah?” he says, his voice cracking a little.

“Could I actually… could you get me his number or something?”

When Jongdae’s heart drops to the floor of the lecture hall, he _swears_ he hears it. “His number? Why do you want his number?” he asks, knowing full well what the answer is.

If Minseok hadn’t been blushing before, he certainly is now. Jongdae wants to find the blush cute, the same way he’s supposed to find everything Minseok does to be cute, but he can’t seem to do it. He’s not sure why. “This is a little embarrassing,” Minseok says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “But… I kinda have a crush on him?”

Jongdae’s heart sinks past the floor, rocketing through the ground and past the different layers of the Earth. Despite his sudden lack of a beating heart, Jongdae is somehow still able to frown at Minseok. “Sorry,” he says stiffly. “I don’t think I can do that.”

Minseok blinks, clearly not used to Jongdae refusing him something. (Honestly, Jongdae isn’t used to it either.) “Oh. Why not?”

“He has a boyfriend already,” Jongdae answers before he can stop himself. “Back in Korea. Yeah. They’re really happy with each other. It’d be pretty shitty of you to wreck their relationship like that.”

Minseok’s eyes go wide. “Fuck, I had no idea. I’m sorry, I never would’ve asked if I knew.” He sounds genuinely guilt-ridden, and Jongdae almost feels bad for lying, but he feels _angry_ instead. He’s not even angry because Minseok, his long-time crush of over two years, likes Jongdae’s fake Korean cousin, who he’s known only for a few weeks, more than he likes Jongdae—he’s angry because he feels strangely _possessive_ over Baekhyun.

And, that just complicates things more.

The prospect of sitting in class next to Minseok, especially after this uncomfortable fucking experience, makes Jongdae sick to his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he says, standing up from his chair in one abrupt motion. “I just… I don’t feel that great right now. I think I need to skip class today.” He gathers all his things and stuffs them into his backpack, then slings the bag over his shoulder. “Can you text me a picture of your notes tonight?”

Minseok opens his mouth to reply, but Jongdae cuts him off with a forced smile. “Great, thanks, you’re the best,” he adds quickly, rushing out of the lecture hall without even a glance over his shoulder.

Jongdae had asked Baekhyun to wait for him outside of the lecture hall until class was over, and he feels a strange sense of relief to find that Baekhyun is still sitting on the bench Jongdae had seated him in before, having a little staring contest with a squirrel. When he blinks, he exclaims loudly, muttering something about his “stupid human body,” before noticing Jongdae.

“Jongdae,” Baekhyun says in a startled voice. “Is class over already? Either my human form is better at not blinking than I thought, or it’s only been the five minutes it feels like it’s been.”

“I’m not going to class today,” Jongdae answers tersely. He grabs Baekhyun’s arm and pulls him up from the bench, tugging him away from the lecture hall building.

“Wait, why not?” Baekhyun asks, stumbling behind Jongdae as he tries to regain his balance. “Don’t you usually love Chinese class? Because of your little thing for Minseok?”

Jongdae huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, that was pretty dumb of me, wasn’t it? I can’t believe it took me this long to realize that he doesn’t like me.”

“What? What are you talking about?"

Jongdae doesn’t respond. He continues pulling Baekhyun along at a pace that makes his own lungs and legs burn, his head cloudy with anger. Suddenly, Baekhyun tugs back on Jongdae’s arm, forcing the other boy to stop in his steps. He swivels Jongdae around, and places both his hands on his cheeks, squishing them together the same way Jongdae had done to him before. “Okay, calm down and breathe,” Baekhyun snaps, forcing Jongdae to look at him. “You’re being really fucking obnoxious right now, you know that, right?”

Jongdae almost makes a snarky comment, but he stops himself. With Baekhyun staring into his eyes and forcing him to _breathe_ , Jongdae can’t really find it in himself to be angry anymore. “Yeah,” he answers in a mutter. “I know."

“Good,” Baekhyun says, letting go of Jongdae’s cheeks. “Now, tell me why you’re so riled up, before you accidentally murder a small family and their pets.”

“It’s something stupid.”

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow. “But, not stupid enough for you to stay in class?”

Jongdae scowls, because he’s resentful; resentful of how easily Baekhyun is always able to refute his points, resentful of how much that _gets_ to him. “It’s just Minseok.”

“What about him?” Baekhyun asks. “Did he say something weird? Did he compliment you on your feet, or something?”

“Wha—no!"

“I notice that you hesitated a little there. I’ll have you know that foot fetishes can be a very satisfactory experience for both parties when you go about them correctly. See, you just have to—”

“Minseok likes you!” Jongdae blurts out.

Baekhyun blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Minseok likes you,” Jongdae repeats, swallowing the lump in his throat. “He—he asked me for your number.”

Baekhyun actually starts laughing at this, although more out of surprise than malice. “Wow. That is a prime example of irony if I’ve ever seen one.”

It’s stupid, but that’s all it takes for big, fat tears to start welling up in Jongdae’s eyes and rolling down his cheeks. Baekhyun, still unable to stop laughing for some reason, places his hands on Jongdae’s shoulders and rubs his thumbs around in soothing circles. “Hey, come on now,” Baekhyun says, sounding more amused than concerned. “Stop crying. You look really gross when you cry.”

Jongdae hiccups as he wipes a few tears away with his sleeve. “Shut up,” he croaks. “That’s not even the correct use of irony.”

Baekhyun lets out an even louder laugh. Jongdae should feel a little insulted at the fact that Baekhyun is laughing at his pain instead of trying to comfort him—but he gets the feeling that this was his own weird method of doing the latter. Besides, it’s a little comforting, the way Baekhyun’s eyes crinkle up at the edges as he bares all his teeth in a large laugh. “You’re so dumb,” Baekhyun says, hastily wiping a few of Jongdae’s tears away with his thumb as he continues chuckling to himself. “I mean, I’ve seen you do a lot of dumb shit—but, crying over a boy? That’s _got_ to be the dumbest.”

At this, Jongdae laughs, an awkward little giggle that he can’t stop from bubbling out of his chest. Baekhyun’s grin widens, just slightly, and Jongdae finds himself laughing even harder. “Yeah, you’re right,” Jongdae says, still laughing breathily. “It’s dumb. I’m dumb. This whole thing is dumb.”

“But, most importantly,” Baekhyun says, raising a finger in the air. “Minseok is the dumbest of them all.”

Jongdae laughs again. “Yeah,” he says, even if Minseok is a very nice human being and Jongdae doesn’t _actually_ think that he’s dumb. It’s just nice to hear the words come out of Baekhyun’s mouth. “Thank you, by the way.”

Baekhyun makes a face. “For what? Getting you to stop crying? Trust me, that was more for my benefit than for yours.”

“Sure it was,” Jongdae says with a noncommittal hum.

“It was!” Baekhyun protests. “You think I actually care about your well-being?”

“ _No_ , of course not,” Jongdae says in a patronizing voice.

Baekhyun scowls. “Gods. I take back everything I said before. Minseok really dodged a bullet back there.”

Jongdae grins. Before he turns around to walk in the other direction, he swears he sees Baekhyun smile as well, a smile that makes his eyes glimmer and plumps his cheeks, turning Jongdae’s stomach inside out.

Jongdae’s type is boys with sparkling eyes, cheeks that plump up when they smile, and a laugh that makes Jongdae’s stomach do somersaults. Jongdae’s type used to be boys like Minseok, and, most importantly, Jongdae’s type might be boys like Baekhyun—and that’s only half the problem.

 

 

 

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

 

 

 

When Jongdae startles awake from his sleep, the first thing he notices from a cursory glance over at his bedroom window is the fact that it’s currently pitch black outside. In his groggy state of consciousness, he gathers that it can’t be much past midnight right now. He’s not sure why he’s awake in the first place, because he isn’t usually prone to waking up in the middle of the night.

The second thing he notices as he turns over on his bed is Baekhyun’s face shoved dangerously close to his own as he peers at him curiously.

Naturally, Jongdae screams.

“Oh my _gods_ , you’re loud,” Baekhyun says, pulling his face away from Jongdae’s and pressing a finger to his ear with a wince. “How is it possible for someone who’s just woken up to possess so much control over their vocal cords so quickly?”

Jongdae sits up from his bed in a hasty scramble, scowling at Baekhyun as he switches his bedside lamp on. “Pardon me for being surprised,” he deadpans. “I mean, you were only staring at me as I _slept_.”

Baekhyun scoffs. “Gods, you’re so self-centered,” he says with a shake of his head. “You’ve got a pretty face, but it’s not enough for me to stare at for _hours_ on end."

Jongdae almost makes a snide comment about the irony behind Baekhyun, of all people, calling someone else self-centered, but he stops himself with a smirk. “You think I have a pretty face?”

Baekhyun’s cheeks seem to flush at this, which is… interesting. Jongdae didn’t think he was even physically capable of blushing. “If you define a pretty face as one that doesn’t make me want to jump off of a fifty story building, then yeah; you have a pretty face. You just barely made the cutoff, though, so I’d wipe that smug-ass grin off your face if I were you.”

Jongdae doesn’t, but less because he wants to spite Baekhyun, and more because he just _really_ enjoys watching him blush. “I’m flattered that you think my face is pretty,” Baekhyun blushes even harder as he frowns, “but I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t stare at it while I’m trying to go to sleep.”

“I wasn’t _staring_ at you,” Baekhyun insists with a frustrated huff. “I was trying to get you to wake up.” When Jongdae responds with a blank stare, Baekhyun sighs and points at the digital clock perched on his bedside table, a blocky “12:01 AM” staring back at the two of them. “It’s officially the end of the week,” Baekhyun explains, looking at Jongdae with an expectant expression. “Time for you to tell me your last two wishes?”

“Oh,” Jongdae blinks, “ _oh._ Right. That.”

“Yeah. _That_ ,” Baekhyun says, impatiently tapping his fingers on his leg. “I held up my end of the deal—now it’s your turn.”

Jongdae feels something drop in his chest, and the feeling is surprisingly similar to when Minseok had asked him for Baekhyun’s number. He’s known for a while now that once Baekhyun grants all three of his wishes, he’s free to leave—Jongdae just never anticipated wanting Baekhyun to _stay_ instead. He’s grown surprisingly attached to Baekhyun’s company over the past few weeks; as much as Baekhyun irritates him at times, he’s not sure how he’ll go through the daily line at the coffeeshop again without Baekhyun’s snarky commentary, or pick himself up after a particularly bad day without Baekhyun telling him to buck up and grow a pair.

“I… I can’t really remember what I was going to wish for.”

This is, of course, a lie. Jongdae has two very well-crafted wishes prepared (one of them pertaining to his abysmal grades in Latin, and the other involving that sweet new gaming laptop he’s been eyeing for awhile now)—he’s stalling, and, judging from the way Baekhyun narrows his eyes, he’s not hiding it very well.

“Jongdae, what’s with the sudden holdup? Weren’t you itching to get rid of me the first chance you got?”

He was—but that was before he fell in love with a fucking _demon_.

“Yeah,” Jongdae says, shaking his head. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I must be tired or something.”

Jongdae is horrible at making excuses, but Baekhyun seems to give him the benefit of the doubt. “So,” Baekhyun prompts with a hitched eyebrow. “Your wish?”

“Right, right. Uh, okay. I wish…”

He looks Baekhyun in the eyes, and feels his chest tighten unbearably at the prospect of watching Baekhyun leave. The words to his rehearsed second wish seem to fly out of his head, and, before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “I wish I had never met you.”

Baekhyun blinks. “I’m… I’m sorry?” he says uncertainly.

“I wish I had never met you,” Jongdae repeats, louder this time. “Negate everything that ever happened between me and you. Make it so that I don’t remember any of this when I wake up.”

Baekhyun furrows his brow. “You do know that if you do that, you don’t get your third wish, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And that you’re basically erasing every experience anyone has gained while I’ve been with you from the time and space?”

“Yeah.”

“And that yo—”

“I get it,” Jongdae interrupts with a frown. “Can you just work your magic already?”

Baekhyun gives Jongdae a funny look, the same scientist-examining-a-bug-under-a-microscope he had given Minseok back at the coffeeshop. Then, the look is gone, and he’s shrugging with the same air of nonchalance he usually possesses. “Alright,” he says. “If that’s what you’re wishing for…”

“It is,” Jongdae confirms.

Baekhyun exhales. “This might take a little more time than the first wish,” he says as he closes his eyes. “I mean, I’m altering the very fabric of time and all.”

Jongdae watches with slight awe as Baekhyun emanates a soft glow of light, his skin shimmering with something that Jongdae can only interpret as pure _power_ , for lack of better understanding. He starts chanting something in Latin, his voice surprisingly deep as he speaks, and Jongdae would find it terrifying, if he wasn’t busy shielding his eyes from the sudden flash of bright light that proceeds to surround Baekhyun’s body. Then, he wonders when this whole process is going to end, because the room is reaching an almost unbearable temperature, the bright light doesn’t look like it’s fading anytime soon, and Jongdae is pretty sure that he’s falling asleep aga—

Jongdae startles awake, inhaling gasping gulps of breath as he sits up. When he wipes a hand against his forehead, his palm comes away with a slick sheen of sweat, and his chest heaves noticeably with every breath he takes. “Fuck,” he mumbles to himself, pressing his hand against his chest to try and stabilize his breathing. “That was a weird dream.”

No more than three seconds pass before Chanyeol bursts through the door, his eyes wide with panic. “Jongdae, I heard you screaming,” he says frantically. “What happened? Did they get you?”

“What?” Jongdae furrows his brows. “Who is ‘they’ supposed to be referring to? Aliens? Yakuza? A horde of sentient, human-sized mosquitoes?”

Chanyeol fixes Jongdae with a grave expression. “Yes.”

Before Jongdae can even wrap his mind around Chanyeol’s answer, Sehun slips into the room with blanket wrapped around his shoulders, a disgruntled frown on his face. “Hey, Marian Anderson,” he snaps groggily. “Mind keeping it down in here? Some of us don’t take morning classes and would really appreciate not being woken up by the screams of a prepubescent schoolgirl at six in the morning.”

“Hey, take it easy on him,” Chanyeol whispers to Sehun. “The yakuza might’ve been here.”

As Sehun whispers back, “What the fuck are you talking about?” Jongdae glances down at his bedside clock. Sure enough, it’s 6:12 AM—much too early for Jongdae to be awake right now.

“Sorry,” Jongdae says, shaking his head. “I think I just had a nightmare, or something. I… I don’t really remember.” It’s a little strange—Jongdae can’t even remember going to bed the night before, much less whatever the cause of his sudden awakening was. Though, if he had actually _screamed_ , a nightmare is probably the best explanation.

“It must’ve been a pretty intense nightmare,” Chanyeol comments. “We could hear you from all the way in our rooms.”

“He probably dreamed that he got a D, or some other nerd shit like that,” Sehun mumbles to Chanyeol.

“Or maybe he dreamed that he got _the_ D,” Chanyeol amends with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Sehun gasps. “Oh, shit,” he says, awestruck. “I mean, that would explain the scream, wouldn’t it?”

“Guys,” Jongdae deadpans. “I’m right here.”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Sehun says disdainfully.

“Okay, this is _my_ room,” Jongdae says in a flat voice. “If anyone shouldn’t be here right now, it’s you two.”

“Oh, please,” Chanyeol snorts, “this is probably the first time you’ve had another human being in your room since the French Revolution. Don’t act like you aren’t enjoying our company.”

“ _Out_ ,” Jongdae intones with a glare.

As his roommates shuffle out of his room with audible grumbles, Jongdae sinks back beneath his blankets. He closes his eyes in an attempt get a few more hours of sleep before his alarm goes off, but an unsettling thought, awkward and prickly in his head, makes his eyes blink back open. For some reason, Jongdae can’t shake off the feeling that Chanyeol is wrong, and that he _has_ had someone in his room recently.

Weird.

 

 

 

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For the rest of the week, Jongdae can’t seem to get that prickly little thought out of his head. It practically prods at him, begs to be noticed at the strangest moments—as he’s standing in line at his favorite coffeeshop, as he’s talking to Minseok in Chinese class, even as he’s checking out a book from the campus library. He can’t pinpoint what the thought is exactly, but at times, he gets the general gist behind it: something is _off_. He feels emptier, more alone than usual, and that just doesn’t make sense. Sure, Jongdae gets the occasional craving for conversation, but he’s a fairly independent individual otherwise. There’s something more going on, and he knows it.

“Maybe you’re just stressed out,” Minseok suggests with a shrug. “Most people tend to seek the company of others when they’re under a lot of pressure. You probably just need to unwind a little, and you’ll be fine.”

Somehow, the situation doesn’t seem that straightforward, but Jongdae accepts the piece of advice with a smile and a nod anyways. It’s Minseok, after all—when has Minseok ever steered him wrong? (Jongdae ignores the way the prickly thought in his head only grows in size as he thanks Minseok for the suggestion.)

So, that’s how Jongdae finds himself booking a massage at the highest rated spa in Koreatown, awkwardly explaining to the woman at the front desk that no, despite the fact that he just greeted her with a very broken _annyeonghaseyo_ , he does _not_ speak Korean.

The woman points him down the hall to where he should go for his massage, and Jongdae thanks her with a shaky _kamsahamnida_. It is, admittedly, a little weird—both because Jongdae isn’t really sure where he learned it from, and because it only exacerbates the prickly thought in his head. As he turns the corner down the hallway, he feels another body slam into his without warning. An armful of towels falls to the ground, and Jongdae stares at them, mortified.

“I’m so sorry,” Jongdae apologizes profusely as he kneels down to help the stranger pick up his towels. “Here, let me help y—”

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Jongdae glances up from the ground and at the stranger. “Excuse me?” he says warily. He’s not sure why, but there’s something about the stranger’s deep set pout that makes Jongdae’s head _throb_.

The stranger scowls at him, crossing his arms against his chest. “Oh, I see what’s going on here. The universe is unhappy with the fact that you only got two of your three wishes, huh?” He throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Well, he only _made_ two wishes,” he shouts at the ceiling. “What do you want me to do with that? I can’t exactly fulfill his third wish when his second wish was basically asking me not to!”

Jongdae blinks. _What_? “I’m sorry, but I think you have me mistaken with someone else,” he says slowly. He stands back up and hands the stranger his towels. “I’m just gonna… go now…”

“Yeah, sure, leave,” the stranger says in a patronizing voice, speaking to the ceiling again. “The great goddamn universe is just going to find a way to shove us back together again, isn’t it? Since I have to _fulfill my contract_ and all?"

Jongdae furrows his brow. “Look, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” The prickly thought has expanded into a full-on headache, and Jongdae can tell he _really_ needs that massage.

The stranger sighs. “Yeah, of course you don’t. Unfortunately, I did a pretty good job of granting your second wish.” He jerks his chin to gesture at the space behind himself. “Follow me. The universe isn’t going to leave either of us alone until I grant you your third wish.”

“Um, no?” Jongdae says with a frown. “I have no idea who you are. Plus, I have a massage scheduled in ten minutes.”

“Trust me, buddy, that massage isn’t going to help you out with your headache,” the stranger calls out as he walks down a separate hallway.

Okay, now _that_ was just fucking strange. Still, Jongdae follows him down the hall anyways, jogging to keep up with him. “Can I at least know your name?”

The stranger glances over at him with a hitched eyebrow, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Trust me,” he says. “You already know it.”

 

 

 

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“I’m Baekhyun,” he finally answers as he closes the door behind Jongdae. They’ve just walked into an empty, windowless room with a big table in the middle, which Jongdae guesses is usually used for massages. “And you’re Jongdae.”

Jongdae’s eyes go wide. “Yeah. How… How’d you know that?”

Baekhyun sighs. “You really don’t remember _anything_?” When Jongdae replies with a blank stare, Baekhyun shakes his head. “Gods, I knew that second wish was a bad idea the moment it left your mouth.”

See, Jongdae wants to believe this _Baekhyun_ guy really badly. He seems like a rational person, and he’s kinda cute, too. But, everytime he mentions _wishes_ , or _the universe_ , Jongdae feels himself understanding less and less of what he says. “I’m sorry, but I’m not really getting what’s going on here. What’s with all this wish talk?”

Baekhyun groans and massages at the bridge of his nose. “Okay, what to do, what to do,” he mumbles to himself. “How do I get you to remember without repealing your second wish?”

“Okay, that _really_ doesn’t clear things up for m—”

“Shush,” Baekhyun interrupts, frowning slightly. “I’m trying to think over here.”

Jongdae frowns too—as cute as Baekhyun is, he’s been kind of an _asshole_ so far. “I’m sorry, but right do you have to _shush_ m—”

“ _Shush_.”

“Now that’s just uncalled f—”Baekhyun grabs Jongdae’s collar and pulls him towards his own body, pressing a kiss onto his lips and _very_ effectively shushing him. Jongdae can feel Baekhyun’s hand against the nape of his neck as he does so, something warm and electric and _familiar_ simmering underneath the pads of his fingers. It isn’t until Baekhyun pulls away with heavy breaths, his arm still draped around Jongdae’s neck, that he _remembers_.

“Sorry,” Baekhyun says as he licks his bottom lip. “That was a—”

“Heat of the moment decision?” Jongdae finishes for him with a raised eyebrow.

Baekhyun grins. “Yeah,” he says. “Something like that.”

 

 

 

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(“This doesn’t change anything,” Baekhyun says one day. “You still need to make your third wish, or else you’ll be stuck with me forever.”

Jongdae continues threading his hand through Baekhyun’s hair, his skin warming pleasantly every time he brushes his fingers against Baekhyun's scalp. The sensation is similar to when he had dropped the book back at the library, or when he had shaken Baekhyun's hand for the first time—only this time, he doesn't let go. “I think I’m willing to take that chance.")

 

 

 

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**Author's Note:**

> \- title taken from girl's generation's genie for.. obvious reasons...  
> \- my [twitter](https://twitter.com/mochiiks) | my [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/mochiiks)


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